


Just A Concerned Outlaw

by galactickitten



Category: overwatch
Genre: F/M, Overwatch - Freeform, Pre-Recall, dispensing his own justice, just your usual vigilante mccree, pre-recall of overwatch but post its fall, trying to be all suave and succeeding just a lil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 21:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7730206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactickitten/pseuds/galactickitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, you’d been shot, and yes, the famous outlaw himself Jesse McCree was trying to help clean said gunshot wounds before they got nastier, but like hell you’d let him touch you. </p><p>After all, he's the reason why you got dragged into this mess in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Concerned Outlaw

**Author's Note:**

> another mccree/reader fic because i can't be stopped and someone needs to stop mccree before he makes me go crazy. pardon any weird grammar/spelling mistakes it's 3:30 am :')

“Lil’ darlin’, you’re gonna have to let me see that wound of yours eventually.”

  
“No.”

  
“Come on now, no need to be so stubborn with me.”

  
“I said _no_.”

  
You kept your arms crossed firmly against your chest, ignoring the pain that came shooting up through your body in torturous waves and the blood stained holes in your shirt and pants. Yes, you’d been shot, and yes, the famous outlaw himself Jesse McCree was trying to help clean said gunshot wounds before they got nastier, but like _hell_ you’d let him touch you. After all, it was _his_ fault you got dragged into this mess. One minute your day is going just fine; out for an afternoon stroll, enjoying the cool air the summer breeze brought in as the sun slowly set behind the horizon. Next thing you know, you’re in the middle of a shootout between McCree and a band of thieves on the run after recently robbing a nearby bank.

  
You’re not a fighter; if we’re being completely honest you’re more of a _runner_. The minute something’s off, you do _not_ want to be around to see things go south. You would’ve made a run for it too if it hadn’t been for those damn thieves who put a bullet in your thigh and attempted to put one in your stomach. Luckily the latter only grazed your side; still hurt like a bitch, but it was better than it having landed successfully on target.

  
With one leg out of commission you fall to the ground ungracefully and immediately start crawling away from the fire fight. You want no part of it, but at this point you’re already too involved. You’ve seen too much. You know too much.  
One of the thieves slams his foot down mere inches from your face, causing you to jump back with a shriek followed by a low cry of pain from the wounds. You looked up only to stare down the barrel of a gun. You felt your heart leap into your throat, tears well up in the corner of your eyes.

  
You didn’t want to die like this; hell, you couldn’t die like this. Your breath speeds up, chest rising and falling heavily as you try to savor the last few moments you’ll probably have alive, heartbeat pounding so loudly in your ears it's almost deafening.

  
And then he fires.

  
The thief sputters, staggering backwards before falling to the ground, a pool of blood gathering around the hole that'd just been shot through his head. You barely have time to register the sight in front of you before you’re swept off the ground by the one and only outlaw McCree, bridal style. You look back, the sight of the lifeless bodies of the thieves enough to make you feel faint.

  
As if catching on, McCree tightens his grip on you, running towards the older end of city as sirens in the distance begin to grow louder.

  
And now here you are, stuck in an abandoned building left to decay with one of the most wanted vigilantes around, who is currently more concerned with your wounds than you ever thought he’d be.

  
“You’re hilarious if you think I’m actually going to strip down so you can tend to my wounds.” You scoff, shifting your spot on the table. You’d heard more than enough about McCree to know he had a reputation as a womanizer; at least that’s what you always heard from the other women of the city.

  
The cowboy pinches the bridge of his nose momentarily before turning his attention back to you. “Now look buttercup, I wouldn’t be telling you to do this if I felt there was another way. Just please, let me take a look at them before they get any worse.” He sounds genuinely concerned for you, but no matter what he says you can’t bring yourself to trust him so easily.

“You could’ve just left me there; the police would’ve shown up sooner or later.” You stated, “No one told you you had to save me.”

  
“Leave a pretty darlin’ like you surrounded by a bunch of dead bodies and just hope the authorities make it on time?” He actually chuckled this time, shaking his head, “What kinda gentleman would do that?”

  
“Not a wanted outlaw, that’s for sure.” You retorted simply.

  
McCree slammed both hands down on either side of your thighs, the sudden movement catching you off guard. With him merely a few inches from your face, you have no other option but to look him straight in the eyes.

  
“I don’t know what kinda lies they’ve been feeding you around here, but I’m not the dangerous kinda outlaw they’d like you to think I am.” He said sternly, watching you from beneath the brim of his hat, “I deliver my own form of justice when the law fails; I don’t go around guns blazing, shooting down every person in sight. You can choose what to believe, and I know I can’t force you to believe one view over the other, but from here on out I think ya should try thinking for yourself and coming to your own conclusion, sweetheart. I was a part of Overwatch before they disbanded after all.”

  
You swallowed roughly, his unwavering gaze getting the better of you and forcing you to look down to your lap, taking note of the blood already starting to dry on your pants.

  
“Now, those wounds aren’t gonna tend themselves, so if you could let me have a look at them...” He insists again, but you cross your arms in front of you once more, not so much in annoyance but in embarrassment now.

  
No one’s really seen you in such a way...and you would’ve liked to keep it that way, but now that the adrenaline high is wearing down the pain is becoming too much to handle, and you're a little bit of a pussy when it comes to handling pain (curse your low tolerance for pain).

  
“ _Fine_.” You sigh, giving in, “But could you…could you maybe...just…turn around first? While I…y’know…”

  
“Of course sweetheart.” And just like that he spins on his heel, whistling lightly to himself while he waits for you to be ready. You take a deep breath, slowly unbuttoning your shirt, wincing occasionally as the slightest movement in the wrong direction sends a renewed sense of pain throughout your torso. You put the shirt aside and quickly unzip your bottoms, tugging them down to your knees as best as you can.

  
You take a moment to look down at yourself, suddenly a little too aware of the small bits of unwanted chub here and there along your stomach and the stretchmarks in-between your thighs. Part of you wishes you’d warn nicer underwear, but the other part immediately scolds you for thinking like that.

  
“Alright, I guess I’m ready.” You mumble, eyes cast off to the side as the cowboy turns back around. He takes a moment to look you up and down (and he doesn’t try to hide that he is either), whistling playfully.

  
“Well now, I already thought you were rather beautiful, but I didn’t think it’d be possible to be more gorgeous than I first thought. Looks like ya proved me wrong.” He chuckled, removing the red cloak wrapped around him and swiftly ripping a piece off it. Before you have any time to protest he’s shoved the rolled up piece of fabric into your mouth, one hand holding your mouth shut as the robotic one settles on your thigh. You make an attempt to scream but it’s muffled out by the makeshift gag, and any attempt at squirming is next to impossible.

  
“It’s gonna hurt sweetheart, but I promise I’ll try to make it quick.” He says softly, a stark contrast to the rough movements from a second ago. You do your best to hold still as a robotic finger slowly makes its way into the wound, causing a new, stronger wave of pain to come out. You scream against the gag, eyes tearing up, but you stay still, body shaking from the amount of sheer force it’s taking you to hold back from thrashing against him. He retrieves the bullet from your wound and tosses it safe. Within seconds he's already wrapping another torn piece of fabric tightly around the area to prevent any more blood loss.

  
He removes his hand from your mouth and you promptly spit out the gag, coughing roughly. “You could’ve given me a countdown.” You say in a raspy voice between coughs, but you know the worst is over.

  
“You would’ve only tensed up more.” He said wisely, “Now just sit up straight so I can wrap that last wound and ya can get decent again.”

  
You do as he says, sitting up straight with your shoulders back. One hand places an edge of the fabric on the wound, the other slowly brings it around your abdomen. His fingers brush against your exposed skin every now and then, sending shivers down your spine whether it’s from his robotic hand or his real one. The contrast of warm skin and cold metal is in some weird way pleasurable, but once again you shake the thought from your head. Things are already weird enough between the two of you; you don’t need any unwanted thoughts making it weirder.

  
With a grunt, McCree finishes tying up the last bit of fabric around you. It’s a little too tight, but you figure it’s only for the best. “Alright, you’re good to go buttercup.” He says, fingers hooking underneath his belt buckle (BAMF? Really?), taking a step back to admire his work. And you as well.

  
He looks away from you as you make a move to grab your shirt, giving you the privacy you'd asked for earlier. However you wince, finding the shirt is a little too out of your reach. Fine then, you figure, moving to bend down and grab your pants. Once again, you stop short of them, an uncomfortable prick of pain causing you to sit up again.

  
_Oh, this isn't good._

  
"Uhm, McCree," You start, "I can't...I uh...I can't reach my pants."

  
You figured the makeshift bandages were too tight, but you didn't think they were so tight that they'd keep you from moving properly.

  
"Well I'm sorry about that," He chuckles, moving closer to you, "lemme help ya with that."

  
You awkwardly keep your arms curled up close to your chest (you don't really know where else to put them) as he hooks his fingers into your pants and tries to pull them up. He stops before trying again, looking at you from under his hat.

  
"You're gonna have to move that pretty little backside of yours if you want to leave with them on correctly y'know." He smirks.

An awkward squeak escapes your mouth, but you manage to coordinate your movements so he can slip your pants on over your ass in one go. You blush at the contact, but quickly look away so he doesn't notice, focusing on your shirt.

  
_Ah shit._

  
Seemingly reading your mind, McCree grabs your shirt and takes a moment to smooth it out. Deciding it's easier to just let him do it than struggle by yourself, you hold your arms out so he can slip the sleeves on. He hums to himself, making quick work of the buttons, pausing momentarily to admire your bra.

  
"Can I help you?" You try to sound mad, but it's clear as day you're just flustered. He laughs in response, shaking his head as he finishes buttoning you up. "S'just a nice color is all." He remarks, pointing to the remaining shreds of his red cloak, "We match."

  
You huff, crossing your arms over your chest even though that's not gonna change a thing. "Well, thank you then, McCree." You say simply, "I guess I owe you."

  
You may have regretted saying that a little.

  
He grins, saving that last bit into his memory so he doesn't forget. "S'all in a day's work, and you can call me Jesse when it's just the two of us. No need to be so formal."

  
"Alright, thank you...Jesse." It sounds more natural than McCree. You give a small, genuine smile. He did kinda save you after all.

  
He moves as if to say something else, but he's cut off by the sounds of approaching sirens. "Looks like it's my time to bolt." He remarks, adjusting his hat before give you a playful wink, "I'll see ya around darlin'."

  
And just like that he's gone, leaving you to wait for the police on your own, and you can't even deny the fact that you already miss him a little bit.

  
Hopefully he comes back to collect what you owe him, but with a cowboy who's path changes with the changing of the wind, all you can do is hope for now.


End file.
